


The Adventure of the Maidservant's Revenge

by Tripleransom



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripleransom/pseuds/Tripleransom
Summary: In his career, Holmes only admitted to being "beaten four times, three times by men and once by a woman."  It is generally assumed that he was speaking about Irene Adler as the woman, but perhaps he was suppressing the fact that he was actually beaten by another woman…





	The Adventure of the Maidservant's Revenge

Some months after the conclusion of the Milverton affair my story concerning it had just been published to great acclaim. As I had intended, the reading public felt that, while most of my tales of Holmes' and my adventures were based to a greater or lesser degree in fact, many of the more fantastic tales, such as the story of the bogus Mona Lisas, and the one with the milk drinking snake, had to be entirely fictional. This one, it was generally agreed, portraying as it did Sherlock Holmes as a lawbreaker of the blackest hue, not only as a burglar, but an accessory to cold blooded murder as well, had to belong to that latter group.

Still, it could not be denied that Milverton was indeed dead, his blackmailer's stranglehold on hundreds in the City destroyed. London breathed a collective sigh of relief and, as those affected were certain that Mr Sherlock Holmes had had at least some hand in this agreeable conclusion, cases had been plentiful of late. 

It was a grey morning in early spring and we had lingered over the breakfast table. I lit a cigarette and wandered over to the window, where I pulled back the curtain and looked down at Baker Street. "Holmes," I said, "I believe we may have a client."

"How so?" he enquired lazily.

"There is a woman coming down the street, looking closely at the house numbers. She is evidently searching for an address and I believe it may be ours," I replied.

"Capitol, Watson," he drawled in a languid tone. "We'll make a detective of you, yet." 

"Yes, she's coming up the steps." When he made no move to rise I said, "well, go on. You surely don't mean to receive her in your dressing gown." He made a face, but obediently got up and swirled into his bedroom as footsteps began to ascend the stairs. "Do entertain her, Watson - after all, the fair sex is your department. I won't be a minute."

Hardly had he disappeared when the sitting room door opened and in stepped a young woman. She was neatly, if shabbily dressed, in a jacket slightly frayed at the cuffs and skirt neatly mended at the hem. Her figure was trim and her costume otherwise nondescript except for a remarkable hat, for which an entire partridge had evidently given up his feathers and which she wore with a rakish tilt. Her face was pretty in a China doll kind of way, her hair fashionably frizzed. Overall, she exuded a kind of painful striving for refinement. I put her down as a servant, perhaps newly come into a small legacy on the death of her employer.

"Good morning, Miss" I said. "Mr Holmes will be right with you."

"Doctor Watson, is it then?" she replied, looking at me intently. I nodded and was about to ask her name, when Holmes breezed into the room, shooting his cuffs as he came. 

"Good…" he began, but the words froze on his lips as she turned to face him.

"Good morning, Mr Sherlock Holmes! Or shall I say - Escott?" she spat. "I hope you been keepin' well and not leadin' some other poor girl down the garden path in the name of justice and all."

For once, Holmes' Red Indian composure threatened to desert him, but after a moment he managed to master himself. "A-Agatha," he gulped, then went on more smoothly with a forced smile, "Good morning. Whatever brings you here?"

"And well you may ask." she said. "I can read, you know. I saw Doctor Watson's story in the Strand magazine after Tom said to me 'Here, Aggie, ain't that your plumber fellow?' I knew at once, in spite of those changes he made. I never thought that the high-and-mighty detective Mr Sherlock Holmes and my Escott were one and the same until then. I have to hand it to you, Mr Holmes, you do know how to lead a girl on!"

"But Agatha," Holmes began.

She cut him off. "oh, so it's 'Agatha' now, is it? You were free enough with 'Aggie, this' an' 'Aggie that' back then, It was all 'c'mon over here, Aggie, give us a cuddle' then." 

Here, I shot Holmes an incredulous look. He shrugged infinitesimally, but his ears had turned a bright red.

"And then you'd always go on, 'here, Aggie, when's old Milverton fold up?' 'When do they let the dogs out?' I was a real goose not to know, but all along I thought it was me, when it was only those old papers you wanted. Well, you got 'em and the story ends happily - except for me, that is. You dropped me like a hot brick and never another word once you got what you wanted!"

Holmes attempted to make soothing noises, but Agatha brushed him aside and continued on in full career: "An' never another thought for me and what was goin' to happen as soon as the police got done at Milverton's!"

As she paused to draw a breath, I managed to interject in what I hoped was a suitably sympathetic air, "What did happen, Miss Agatha?"

"What do you think happened? Once the police finished investigatin' the house was shut up and we was all turned out, that's what happened. Things would have been right thin for me, what with bein' out of place with no character and no prospects, except that…" The flow of words faltered and her eyes flashed up to meet Holmes' then quickly dropped again, "…except that I found a couple of stray tenners in a corner when I was cleanin' up old Milverton's study afterwards and who was to say who they belonged to anyway? It's not as though he come by them honest. And what was I s'posed to have done with them? I couldn't hardly advertise about 'em, could I? 'Lost near Hampstead, several tenners. Owner can have same by identifying them.' I'd have half London on my doorstep and the police if I tried that!"

"You could," I interposed, "have turned them over to the police." 

"As if," she said rounding on me scornfully. "They'd be in some Constable's pocket before you could say knife, or else I'd be in all the more trouble for it with them askin' how many more there was."

"Agatha'" said Holmes, seeing his chance, "just how many more were there?"

"Well" she said, "there might have been three…" Her voice trailed off as he continued to look expectantly at her. Then she tossed her head and said, "all right. There were four. And I had to wash 'em off because they was all bloody. But they was all that was between me and the street and I'm not sorry I kept 'em!" 

"I'm not sorry old Milverton's gone either," she continued. "He was a nasty bit of work and no mistake. But I was just lucky I found that dosh and after the house was closed up and we was all turned out, I got to thinkin' and I went and found my Tom and told him what had happened and we made it up, right as rain, in spite of my bein' temporarily led astray by you, Mr Holmes. If I hadn't kept them tenners, Tom and me would be out on the street, like all the others. As it is, well," she smiled triumphantly. "We was married last month and it so happens I got prospects."

"I'm sure I'm very happy to hear it," Holmes interjected as he tried vainly to stop the flow of words, but she went on. 

"Tom was readin' one of those chapbooks - you know the kind - that's printed down on Curzon Street" Here she paused and a wave of color washed over her face, but she forged on. "'A Maiden Betrayed' it was called and it was pretty ripe. And then I thought, 'huh, I could do better than that tripe'. There's my own story - all about me and you - or Escott - and then they said there was a Mr Smithers who puts out a lot of that stuff, so I went to see him and when he heard what I had to tell him, he said I had a strong natural turn for narr- narr-" she hesitated.

"Narrative verisimilitude?" I supplied helpfully. 

"I'm sure that's it, Watson," said Holmes frigidly. "You're being most helpful."

She nodded vigorously. "That's it, Dr Watson. You're a real writer, aren't you? she said, with an admiring look at me and a glare at Holmes. She continued, "That's the word. He said it only wanted a bit of gingerin' up and it'd be a best seller. Then he said he could use a smart girl like me to provide the woman's point of view, like. So," she continued triumphantly, oblivious to Holmes' growing horror, "Now I'm learning to be a typewriter, so's I can go to work for him. So there!"

She pulled a paper out of her reticule and tossed it on the table, where it narrowly missed the butter dish and landed face up. It proved to be the title page of a story entitled 'Seduced and Abandoned - The Chambermaid's Tale', complete with a crudely drawn illustration of a woman who faintly resembled Agatha, in an advanced state of dishabille, who, with her eyes rolled to Heaven, was vigorously repulsing the advances of a tall, thin man with a pronounced leer, and a general resemblance to Holmes! 

"Now what do you think of that, Mister Sherlock Holmes?"

"But Agatha," he interposed, perhaps unwisely, "you weren't really a chambermaid."

Her mouth set in a hard line. "No," she agreed, "but I had my hopes. And you put paid to that, didn't you? Besides, Mr Smithers said it added interest to the story. Maid-of-all-work didn't have quite the same ring to it. 'High jinks in high life' he said, 'that's just the ticket!'"

For once, Holmes was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth and then shut it again abruptly, perhaps realising that there was nothing he could say to Agatha that would not make matters even worse. He shot me a look of desperation.

"Look here, Miss Agatha," I began tentatively, not knowing quite what to say either. "You can't mean to ruin Mr Holmes's reputation…"

"I could, you know," she replied and then she was off again. "I got grounds for a breach of promise suit, and false representation, and maybe more besides. He trifled with my affections and made a fool of me, that's what he did. It's just lucky Tom stood by me and we made it all up, otherwise where'd I be? He'd still be sittin' here all high-and mighty detective and I'd be all alone with nothing, that's what!" 

I sat forward in my chair and looked earnestly at Agatha. "But you have to admit, it was for a good cause. Milverton was the worst kind of blackguard. He ruined people's lives for his own gain and he did it with a smile. You must have known that."

She looked down. "Well," she admitted, "I suppose I did." I held my breath. Behind me, I could feel Holmes' tension. 

"You must know that Holmes had to play that kind of part in order to infiltrate the house and break up Milverton's organisation. Why, peoples' very lives depended on it."

She hesitated for a long moment, her face troubled, then abruptly made up her mind. "Right, then," she said. "Look here, Mr Holmes. I didn't really come to make trouble for you. I know I could, but then I'd be no better than that Milverton, wouldn't I? I didn't tell Mr Smithers anything that would lead him back to you. I changed my story all around so's it wasn't you - I mean, not Mr Holmes in it at all, though Escott was there all right. And I had a friend draw up that picture for a joke, like. I've heard about all the good you do and old Milverton's better off gone. I saw many a fine lady - and gentleman, too - leave there in tears, with their lives ruined because of him. And it all worked out for the best, didn't it? I have my Tom and he wants to set himself up in a trade, so we'll be all right. I just wanted to get a bit of my own back." 

"That's fair of you, Agatha," Holmes said faintly, with an air of relief. "I suppose I deserve to be told off, but I only did what I had to do, to bring that despicable villain to justice."

"I know it, Mr Holmes" she replied, "but I wanted to make you think a bit. What you did - it wasn't right. And you know the worst of it? You never gave it another thought. You got what you wanted, and Milverton's gone, and justice was served and that, but you never thought of what would happen to me, or Tom, or any of us, not one bit. We're not like some characters in one of Dr Watson's stories. We're real people and you would have ruined our lives without even blinking if I hadn't found those tenners." She rose from her seat and stood, hands on her hips, facing Holmes fiercely. "Well, haven't you got something to say to me? Don't you owe me something?"

"You're right Agatha," Holmes replied, reaching into his pocket. "I do owe you something. Can I…"

She cut him off, furious tears in her eyes. "Don't you dare say it Mr Holmes! Don't you offer me money! It ain't money I want from you!"

"Then what…?"

"Holmes." I said quietly, "I rather think you owe the lady an apology, don't you?" Turning to face her, I drew a deep breath. "For my part, Miss Agatha, I apologise to you. I misrepresented you in my story. I never thought, either and I'm sorry for it."

"There," she said with a smile for me. " _Someone's_ a true gent. Dr Watson, I accept your apology." She glared at Holmes. I elbowed him hard in the ribs. 

"Holmes," I said, "Miss Agatha is waiting."

"I do apologise, Agatha," he said contritely. "I'm sorry for being heedless and for trifling with your happiness and your future." He paused, "but forty pounds won't go that far. Are you sure…?"

"I accept your apology, too, then, Mr Holmes," she said magnanimously. "But..." she hesitated and looked down. "Tom is thinking of settin' himself up in a trade and…" her voice trailed off.

Holmes shot me a covert look of triumph as he reached for his pocket again. "What sort of trade is he thinking of going into, Agatha?" he asked.

There was a pause. Then: "Plumbing," she responded with a little smile.

Holmes's jaw dropped, then he shut his mouth with a snap. "Wait. I know just the thing," he exclaimed and darted from the room, leaving Agatha and me to exchange mystified glances. A moment later he returned, bearing a large bag emblazoned in gold letters "Escott & Co. - We Plumb the Depths".

"Here," he said, handing it to Agatha. "I'm sure Tom can use this. Give it to him with my best wishes for his success and yours, too, in your new endeavours. And I promise to be more considerate in future."

"Well," she beamed, all animosity forgotten. "That's fair enough spoken, Mr Holmes. This'll be just the start Tom needs to set him up. I'll be taking this on to him, then." She turned to go, but looked back as she reached the door. "It's lucky for you I have my Tom, Mr Holmes. You know, old Escott wasn't half bad, after all." With a final triumphant look at both of us, she tripped off down the stairs.

I pulled back the curtain and watched as she picked her way daintily down the street, the plumber's bag clutched somewhat incongruously in her hand. Holmes made his way to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy before collapsing on the settee.

He blew out a breath. "Upon my word Watson," he said, taking a healthy gulp of his drink, "I think I've just had a very narrow escape. If, in future, it should ever strike you that I am getting a little above myself, or giving less attention to a case to the sensibilities of the participants than they deserve, would you be so kind as to just whisper 'Agatha' in my ear and I promise you, I shall change my ways at once!" 

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Note 1:** Leonard Smithers was a well-known publisher of pornographic books during the Victorian era. Curzon Street was the centre of the pornographic book trade.
> 
> **Author's Note 2:** The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton is one of the most difficult to date of the stories in the original Holmes Canon. Many Sherlockian scholars date it early in Holmes' career, while others place it later. I hold with those who date it early, partly because of the athletic feats Holmes and Watson perform during the story, but mostly because I think Holmes must have been of a suitable age to appeal to Aggie. (unlike poor Jeremy Brett).


End file.
